


Slow Burn

by Increasing_Paranoia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: I'm too lazy to tag all the characters, M/M, uses dialogue from the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Increasing_Paranoia/pseuds/Increasing_Paranoia
Summary: Dorian was used to fast and fiery. That's how things usually worked in the Imperium - like battle magic. This, however, was different. This was a slow burn he had never experienced before.





	1. Chapter One

Dorian had heard rumors about Lord Nathaniel Trevelyan. The man came from a family with strong ties to both the Chantry and the Templars so he was not expecting the man to meet with the mages at Redcliffe, much less follow Felix's note to meet in the Chantry. He also wasn't expecting the man to be so bloody gorgeous. He had given thanks everyday that he had uncovered his father's plot to alter him; he gave extra thanks today.

"Good, you're finally here," he greeted jovially, his persona slipping into place like a mask. Before him stood a group of four, three females and a male making it easy to figure out who was the alleged 'Herald of Andraste'. "Now help me close this," he demanded as the rift spit out another wave of demons.

The battle was over relatively quickly – the Inquisition had evidently sent more seasoned fighters to protect the Herald. He recognized the warrior as Seeker Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine and founder of the Inquisition. The rogue was unknown to him, though she was clearly a city elf. Judging by her colorful vocabulary, Dorian suspected they'd be fast friends. And last but not least, a very well poised Madame Vivienne. Orlais' First Enchanter had been much talked about when she first began expanding her duties. Dorian wouldn't be lying if he said Tevinter had hoped that the Iron Lady would take the thrown and raise up the mages. Sadly, that was not the case. All this ran through his head in mere seconds.

"Fascinating," he drawled. "How do you do it? You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom, the rift closes!" Few things annoyed Dorian more than someone who did things without question. His annoyance was only reinforced when he realized the man in front of him was decked out in full Templar attire. Andraste preserve me, he thought, resigned to a brief, unproductive meeting. He was pleasantly surprised.

Trevelyan was pleasant. He was polite. He asked questions and his wit kept even Dorian on his toes. By the time they parted ways, Dorian felt as if he would be seeing the Herald again and he was a bit thrown by how much he was looking forward to it.

Redcliffe was...difficult. Being thrown a year into the future and seeing just what was at stake if they failed made their task seem like an even bigger challenge. Seeing Felix like...that and seeing Alexius so downtrodden made Dorian ache in ways his Tevinter upbringing would not allow him to acknowledge. Though Nathaniel seemed able to see right through his bravado, which was disconcerting in and of itself. Still, it was a good opportunity to see what kind of man the Herald was.

The Herald, it turned out, was a very capable man. He was aware of his strengths and weaknesses, knowing full well that he was out of his depth with the magical anomaly. He was open and receptive to Dorian's advice and he did not shy away from the spells Dorian threw during battle, instead trusting the mage to have his back. It was also evident to Dorian that Nathaniel cared deeply for his party, despite only meeting them a short time ago. The anguish in his eyes when they found Leliana and his utmost refusal to let his comrades die told the Vint a great deal about Nathaniel's values. In an instant Dorian decided that no matter how things turned out with the Redcliffe mages, he would be staying with the Inquisition.

Haven was not what he was expecting and neither were the allies. Dorian was not proud to admit that he nearly fled after seeing the huge hulking Qunari in the courtyard. But The Iron Bull seemed content to (mostly) let him be and Dorian was even a bit shocked to learn that his second-in-command, Krem, was from Tevinter as well. Speaking with the man helped ease some of Dorian's homesickness and even Bull relaxed once he saw Dorian making friends with the Chargers. Blackwall, however, was not as friendly, though Dorian was used to getting the stink-eye. Cassandra, surprisingly enough, seemed to accept his presence without reservations. After all, she also knew what it felt like to be an outcast in her family. As for their elven allies, as Dorian predicted, he and Sera were fast friends which seemed to garner immediate disapproval from Solas.

"Don't pay any attention to him," the archer told him. "His head's crammed up a thousand years ago. He doesn't like any elf who isn't 'proper'. Probably dislikes you for a thousand bullshit reasons."

"Don't worry. I'm quite accustomed to being a pariah," he told her breezily, earning a look of admiration from the girl. Still, Dorian was used to knowing the reason behind someone's dislike of him and he couldn't help but wonder what Solas' reason was.

Varric had fast become Dorian's favorite drinking buddy. The dwarf would tell him tales that Dorian could scarcely believe were true while the mage would tell salacious stories from Tevinter. If Varric ever included any of his stories in a new book, Dorian was convinced that half of Tevinter would fall to the gossip. He couldn't wait.

As for Madame Vivienne...Dorian smirked. Talking with Vivienne it was almost as if he never left home. The verbal sparring with Sera was fun, but with Vivienne... The First Enchanter was accustomed to moving in the upper classes like Dorian and her game had an extra edge to it that Sera's was lacking. She also understood his hesitancy when Nathaniel gave the mages their freedom, though Vivienne was against the move while Dorian ultimately supported it. Still, Nathaniel must have been able to use some of his charm on the First Enchanter as Vivienne still seemed to hold him in high regard. Even Dorian had to admire how the young man managed to find himself so well liked by such vastly different people. Dorian had asked him about it once. Nathaniel had laughed and said it was a product of being the youngest child.

"You learn that certain things aren't worth arguing over," he said. "Some people are Andrastian, some aren't; some support the Templars, some support the mages. But if you show up here and are willing to help and don't cause problems? We'd be stupid to turn away allies."

"How very practical of you," Dorian quipped and Nathaniel chuckled.

"Got you to stay, didn't it?" he asked, winking at the other man before taking off to meet with his advisers. And, oh, the advisers...

Dorian so loved how frustrated Josephine got whenever she tried to get him to take something seriously. The more she tried the more determined he became to defy her and the more flustered Josephine got. Dorian quite loved being contrary. He'd noticed the Commander's amusement at Josephine's predicament on more than one occasion, though he refrained from pointing it out. He and Cullen had an uneasy truce going. Dorian didn't need Leliana's secret reports to see that their Commander had suffered at the hands of mages, and while Cullen still distrusted mages, Dorian respected the fact that he was clearly working to keep the Herald's alliance together. And Leliana...the spymaster had snuck into his room one evening to offer her apologies before just as silently disappearing. Dorian had appreciated the sentiment while being thoroughly unsettled by the experience.

Any feelings of discomfort were quickly overshadowed by feelings of pure terror. The hope and joy that Nathaniel had inspired by closing the Breach was quickly burnt to a crisp by Corypheus' archdemon. With Haven destroyed and Nathaniel presumed dead, Dorian buried his grief and helped the healers tend to the wounded. He wasn't as skilled in healing magic but they needed all the help they could get and Dorian was happy to lose himself in the monotony. He wasn't sure how long he'd been at it when a commotion snapped him out of his daze.

"Make way! Clear a path!" Cullen ordered as soldiers carried the Herald to the healers' tent. The camp was quickly filling with whispers, religious fervor sweeping through the undercurrents. Dorian himself couldn't help but be caught up in it. There seemed to be no other logical explanation for Nathaniel's miraculous survival. The whole spontaneous singing was a...quaint touch, though Nathaniel didn't appear impressed by it judging by the way he disappeared afterward. Still, Dorian didn't give it too much thought as he passed out on his bedroll. It had been an extremely long day.

They were up early the next morning, with Nathaniel leading them North. Something must have happened while Dorian slept because the Herald had a new certainty behind his actions. The mage would have loved to ask about it but Trevelyan spent his days scouting ahead of the company and his evenings behind closed tent flaps with his advisers. Dorian resigned himself to days spent trading barbs with Sera and Vivienne and nights assisting the healers and drinking with the Chargers and Varric. So many days passed this way that Dorian was completely unprepared for his sudden company.

"There you are!" the man exclaimed, pleasure clearly evident in his voice and on his face. Dorian paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. He was ashamed to say it took several seconds to process who stood in front of him.

"Well, if it isn't the Herald," he covered smoothly. "And what brings you here?"

"I was worried about you," Nathaniel confessed. "I've seen everyone else since Haven but you've been keeping yourself scarce," he stated, giving the Tevinter a pointed look. Vishante kaffas, Dorian thought as he tried not to choke on his drink.

"Not all of us are eager to scamper ahead. Nor am I interested in your terribly dull war meetings," Dorian stated. "I've much more interesting things to do," he added, taking a timely sip of his drink.

"I know," Nathaniel grinned. "I've seen you with the healers."

"You..." Dorian spluttered. "Vishante kaffas, were you spying on me?" he demanded, his carefully cultivated Tevinter elegance leaving him.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," Nathaniel told him with a shrug. Dorian blinked.

"I...am fine," he answered, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. "You should get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow."

Incidentally, they did have a long day. They finally made it to Skyhold. The place was amazing though it clearly needed a lot of work. Dorian would leave that to Cullen and his pets. He, however, quickly found a spot for himself in the library, and that was where the newly appointed Inquisitor found him.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" he asked as he continued perusing the books. "One moment you're trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle, yes?" he asked before continuing on. "Then, out of nowhere, an archdemon appears and kicks you in the head. 'What? You thought this would be easy?' 'No, I was just hoping you wouldn't crush our village like an anthill.' 'Sorry about that! Archdemons like to crush you know. Can't be helped.' Am I speaking too quickly for you?" Dorian asked as he finally turned to face the newly appointed Inquisitor.

"You don't need to worry about me, I can keep up." Nathaniel told him with a small chuckle. For the first time since their meeting Dorian stopped to actually look at the man. Nathaniel Trevelyan was solidly built though a few inches shorter than the mage. His black hair was cut close to his head, most likely to make wearing a helmet easier, and he had a five o'clock shadow along his cheeks and around his lips. His eyes were a green-blue color and seemed to have a star-burst effect. He was broad-shouldered, clearly built like a warrior, which explained his preference for fighting with a sword and shield. While Trevelyan had not followed his siblings into the Templars, they clearly had an effect on the man.

"Yes, I noticed that," he finally confessed.

"Did you know?" Trevelyan asked. Humor was evident in his voice and Dorian tried to ignore what that voice did to him.

"Certainly. If you were a slack-jawed yokel, you'd already be dead," Dorian informed him. "I always assumed the 'Elder One' behind the Venatori was a Magister, but this...is something else completely," he continued with a shake of his head. "In Tevinter, they say the Chantry's tales of magisters starting the Blight are just that: tales. But here we are. One of those very magisters – a darkspawn." Dorian couldn't even wrap his head around how badly that bothered him.

"Who does the Imperium say started the Blight?" Nathaniel asked, bringing the other man back to the present.

"You know how it is. 'Not us'. They say darkspawn were always there; magisters and the Blight aren't even related. Is that a surprise?" Dorian asked. "No one wants to admit they shit the bed. But if Corypheus is one of the magisters who entered the Black City and he's darkspawn...what other explanation is there?" he asked tiredly.

"We only know what Corypheus claims to be," Nathaniel pointed out.

"True," Dorian conceded. "He might be a convincing liar. Or delusional. Or insane. But how many delusional maniacs are going to have that knowledge? He broke open the fade," Dorian stated, stressing his last point. "I knew what I was taught couldn't be the whole truth but I assumed there had to be a kernel of it. Somewhere. But no, it was us all along. We destroyed the world." he said sadly. The full impact of this realization didn't hit him until the moment the words left his mouth. Andraste but the Imperium had a lot to answer for.

"You didn't do anything," Nathaniel argued. "Those men did. A thousand years ago."

"True, except that one of them is up and walking around right now. Not to mention I have idiot countrymen who would happily follow him down that path again," he sighed. "No one will thank me, whatever happens. No one will thank you either. You know that, yes?" he asked.

"That's not why I'm doing this," the other man informed him.

"I knew there was something clever about you," Dorian stated. "All I know is this: Corypheus needs to be stopped. Men like him ruined my homeland. I won't stand by and let him ruin the world." As he headed back to his room, he paused for a moment and quickly spun back around to face the Inquisitor. "Oh, and congratulations on that whole leading the Inquisition thing, by the way." He left before Nathaniel could respond. He told himself it was because he had things to do. He hated the fact that he was clearly lying to himself about it.

~Review~


	2. Chapter 2

It soon became evident to Dorian that Nathaniel had a favorite traveling group. This group was comprised of Blackwall, Sera and Dorian himself. While he certainly wasn't adverse to traveling all over the Southern half of Thedas, it did put a crimp in his plans i.e. ignore his attraction to the Inquisitor, have minimal interaction and fade away after Corypheus was defeated. Still, at least he had Sera with him. She got along with Dorian and Blackwall, which made things a bit better between the mage and the warden. And good companions certainly helped when they were slogging through the muck of Crestwood while battling hordes of the undead.

"Ugh," he sighed, wrinkling his nose in distaste as another corpse fell to the ground.

"They're so squishy!" Sera exclaimed in disgust. After the first few corpses, the elf had positively refused to reclaim any arrows from the dead bodies.

"Hopefully we'll put an end to this once we close the rift in the lake," Nathaniel chimed in as he sheathed his sword. "Let's stop in the village. Maybe someone there knows how to drain the lake."

"There's a lake like this one near my family's estates," Dorian commented absentmindedly. "Fewer demons," he added. Sera snorted while Nathaniel tossed a grin over his shoulder. Blackwall did as he typically did – ignored the mage.

"So you and the Inquisitor, eh?" Sera asked with a cackle and a nudge to his shoulder. Dorian sighed.

"There is nothing going on, Sera," Dorian informed her.

"Not yet, at any rate. But there will be," she assured him. "Trust me, I know people." The mage sighed but let the matter drop. He wasn't going to argue about his chance at a relationship with the Inquisitor **in front of the Inquisitor**. Or worse, Blackwall. Perish the thought.

_Besides,_ he thought, _just because Nathaniel is showing interest doesn't mean he's looking for a relationship._ Dorian had experienced enough disappointing one night stands to be aware of this. And he wasn't fully decided on what he wanted himself, thus why he had fallen back on the old "repress" habit. But if Sera was right...Dorian prayed but even he didn't know if he wanted her to be right or wrong.

The fight at Caer Bronach did a wonderful job of distracting him from his conflicting emotions. Once the fortress was clear of thieves, it seemed only natural to clear out the caves as well. At least, that was Nathaniel's reasoning. Dorian had a different feeling on the matter.

"Just once, we should enter a cave and see _normal-_ sized spiders," he groused as spiders began descending from the ceiling.

"I'm going to name her Snowball," Sera announced.

"We're not keeping it as a pet!" Nathaniel informed her as 'Snowball' spat poison at the group. Dorian managed to raise a barrier in time as Nathaniel and Blackwall charged at the arachnids.

"Bad Snowball!" Sera shouted as she readied an arrow and joined the fray. When the last of the spiders was dead and the four companions caught their breath, Dorian began chuckling. "What's so funny?" Sera asked but the mage couldn't respond and just laughed harder. Eventually, all four companions wound up in hysterics, laughing until tears streamed down their face while they stood ankle deep in stagnant water surrounded by arachnid corpses. They finally calmed down and even managed to drain the lake before Nathaniel announced they would be stopping for the night.

Since the majority of the rooms at Caer Bronach had been given to the Crestwood villagers, the party set up tents in the upper courtyard. Sera had called dibs on bunking with Dorian which suited the Tevinter just fine. While the rest of the party was eager to explore their new holdings in more depth, Dorian excused himself, content to huddle into the warmth provided by the tent and his bedroll and began reading one of the research books Vivienne and Solas had sent. The text was written in old Tevene and while Solas could have deciphered the text if given enough time, time was not their friend. Dorian quickly became engrossed in the text, jotting down the occasional note for his allies to follow up on. His concentration was broken when he felt a warm blanket being dropped across his shoulders.

"Sera said you were shivering," Nathaniel explained as he moved to take a seat.

"I wasn't," Dorian immediately argued, hating how the other man always seemed to catch him off guard. It left him feeling off-balance and occasionally giving up personal information that he was not ready to divulge.

"Were too," Sera argued, sticking her head back inside the tent. "You were too wrapped up in your book to be arsed." Dorian sighed and closed his book.

"Thank you," he told both.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked with a cheeky grin before ducking back outside. Dorian wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself and turned to face the Inquisitor. He found the man already watching him with a soft smile and Dorian looked away and cleared his throat.

"I am appreciative of the extra blanket, Inquisitor," he began.

"Nathaniel," Trevelyan interrupted. Dorian paused a moment to consider the request.

"Nathaniel, then," he amended. "I am not quite accustomed to your Southern temperatures."

"I wasn't aware that the Imperium was so much warmer than Fereldan," Nathaniel confessed. "You could have said something. We could have found you heavier armor. Or – " Dorian waived away the other man's concerns.

"My discomfort is trifling compared to what needs to be accomplished. If we come across warmer armor, splendid, but I will not go out of the way to find it. Our resources are precious few and can be spent on better things." He told Nathaniel. The Inquisitor frowned but seemed to concede Dorian's point. A comfortable silence fell and Dorian turned back to his book.

"Why were you laughing in the caves?" Nathaniel asked after some time had passed.

"Oh, _that_ ," Dorian chuckled. "My family does not approve of my life choices – one of the reasons I left Tevinter in the first place. I just thought how utterly furious my mother and father would be if they saw me in that moment. The _scandal_ I would cause…" he laughed again.

"You don't get along with your family?" Trevelyan questioned, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"Ah, no." Dorian confessed, cursing silently. He had not meant to share that information. "I don't agree with their choices nor they with mine. Thus it's better that I'm far from home." He paused, contemplating a thought that he'd been mulling over since Redcliffe. "Why did you ally with the mages?" he asked.

"Ah," Nathaniel sighed. "To be perfectly honest, I never agreed with my siblings' thoughts on the Templar Order. It was a point of contention between us for a long time. They felt Templars were justified in their use of force and the rite of tranquility. I disagreed. My parents decided it would be best not to send me to training and so I escaped following in my family's footsteps." He explained.

"Did your siblings…" Dorian trailed off, unsure how to finish the question.

"I haven't heard from them since Redcliffe." He answered. "My parents only wrote to inform me that they were displeased with my choice of allies. But I hope…" Nathaniel cut off with a shaky sigh and Dorian realized that the other man was trying not to cry.

"We all hope," he assured the Inquisitor, placing a steadying hand on the other man's shoulder. He was rewarded with a wan smile and it struck Dorian how similar he and the Inquisitor were. Both had turned their backs on what had been expected of them and were thus outcasts in their own families.

"Thank you, Dorian," Trevelyna stated, pulling Dorian's concentration back to their conversation. "I should let you get back to your research," he continued as he reluctantly stood up to leave. It bothered Dorian how much he wanted Nathaniel to stay.

"It's not pressing," he informed the Inquisitor. "If you have other things you want to discuss." Nathaniel gave him a small, relieved smile and sat back down.

"Thank you," he said softly. "I have a lot on my mind and while Blackwall is a good man, I sometimes think he can't see past my titles," he confessed with a shake of his head.

"You're not a believer, then?" Dorian asked. He was honestly a bit surprised. He half-believed all humans in the South were Andrastian.

"I believe in Andraste," Nathaniel clarified. "I don't believe she saved me at the Conclave. I don't believe I'm 'the Chosen One'. I'm not sure…" he trailed off as he hung his head, gripping it between both hands. "I'm not sure I believe I can save everyone," he whispered. Dorian felt a pang of pity for the man sitting across from him. He was clearly under a great deal of stress and evidently had not felt that he could confide in anyone about this. Dorian wasn't sure why Nathaniel felt comfortable approaching him but he would do his best to give him the support he needed.

"Doubt is good," he told the man. "I like doubt. It will keep you sane. Me, I've seen too much to believe I know everything. The world is bigger than I, even bigger than you. It laughs at the things we think we know."

"Do you consider yourself Andrastian?" Nathaniel asked, lifting his head to look Dorian in the eye.

"Ah, the big question. It might surprise you that I do consider myself Andrastian. The Maker doesn't need me to believe, but I do. The thought of no one watching out for us is too frightening. But while I believe in the Maker, I do not believe in the Chantry." At Nathaniel's look of confusion, Dorian explained. "It is a relic, whether back home or here in the South. Something from a bygone age desperately clinging to relevance. It's not an opinion that makes me popular," he confessed.

"I share your opinion, actually," Nathaniel confessed. He moved a bit closer to the mage as the light from outside began fading.

"That's not surprising, considering what the Inquisition represents. I'll say this: I may not believe in the Chantry, but I believe in _you_ ," Dorian stated. Silence fell as the weight of his words sunk in and Dorian fought not to fidget beneath Nathaniel's indecipherable gaze.

"Dorian…" the warrior began but seemed to change his mind. "We should turn in," he stated. Dorian squashed down his disappointment. "Sleep well," was Nathaniel's farewell as he ducked out of the tent. He was back a few moments later looking somewhat bashful. Dorian couldn't help himself.

"Sleep well?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. He couldn't believe his eyes when the Inquisitor actually blushed.

"It seems Sera and Blackwall fell asleep in the other tent while we were talking." Nathaniel informed him. Dorian cursed in his head. While Blackwall might have actually been asleep, the mage was convinced that Sera was faking it – purposely forcing Nathaniel to sleep in the same tent as the Tevinter.

"Well, I suggest you make yourself comfortable in Sera's bedroll, Inquisitor," Dorian told him airily.

"Nathaniel," he corrected automatically. "I'd prefer if you used my given name." Dorian sighed.

"Nathaniel, go to sleep," he ordered. As both men settled into their beds, an uncomfortable silence fell between them. It seemed that both were hyper-aware of the other and every little sound they made seemed louder than it actually was. Dorian was unsure how long they both laid there before sleep finally claimed them.

The next morning found Sera grinning at him over their breakfasts. Dorian rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what the elf was thinking. As the group headed back towards the now-drained lake, Sera made sure that she and the mage lagged behind Nathaniel and Blackwall.

"Sleep well?" she asked with a nudge.

"Nothing happened, Sera," Dorian told her, rolling his eyes for the second time that morning.

"What, nothing at all?" she asked, shock evident in her voice. The mage couldn't help but chuckle at the rogue.

"We talked," he clarified. " _Just_ talked."

"About your feelings?" Sera clarified. Her nose wrinkled on the word "feelings".

"No, about _other_ things." Dorian told her. "And I'll thank you to stay out of my relationship with the Inquisitor. I don't know how you handle your relationships but it's become clear that we handle them differently," he added.

"Yeah, mine end with someone getting done. The _good_ way," Sera told him. Dorian sighed, knowing full well that his friend was not going to leave this alone. Clearly it was going to be a long, _long_ trip.

~Review~

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian released a shaky breath as he stared up at the night sky. The events at Crestwood had left him feeling raw. Now, as they fought their way through the mud of Fallow Mire with more undead all around them… He shook his head, trying to empty his mind of Crestwood's caves and the claw marks in the wall. The mage had always known that people could commit the most heinous atrocities – Tevinter practically flaunted theirs – but this… Even Tevinter wasn't that cruel. A shiver passed through his frame but Dorian wasn't ready to head back to his tent. Still, he knew better than to leave the safety of camp, so he walked along the edges until he reached the opening of the rocks.

It was too dark to see very far, although occasional flashes of lightening pierced the night. They couldn't be far from their captured soldiers & Maker willing, they'd be alright. It surprised him, really, how often the Inquisitor went out of his way to help people. The fact that Nathaniel could care less about whether the person they were helping belonged to the Inquisition or was rich or poor spoke volumes. It made it that much easier for Dorian to fall for the man, something he was trying desperately not to do.

A shambling form passed through Dorian's field of vision and his thoughts returned to Crestwood's caves. He frowned as he imagined the water rushing into the caves, the families panicking as they realized their fate. The desperate struggle as they tried to fight the inexorable outcome. Others resigned, choosing to end their life a different way. Dorian shivered again, but this time it wasn't from the cold.

"Dorian?" a voice questioned and the mage sighed – both pleased and irritated.

"Good evening Inquisitor. Or is it morning now?" he inquired.

"Dorian, how many times must I tell you to call me Nathaniel?" the man asked. "Why do you avoid using my name?" he asked. The mage hesitated to answer. If he spoke truth, their tentative friendship would be ruined and there was a good possibility that Dorian would have to leave the Inquisition. A convincing lie would be the best way to go, then.

"First-name basis invites all sorts of familiarity," he explained to the Inquisitor. "While you are undoubtedly closer to the members of your Inner Circle, too much familiarity is not advised. Especially with the evil Tevinter magister," he added sardonically.

"And what if that familiarity is what I want?" Nathaniel challenged as he crossed his arms. The question caught Dorian off-guard. Of everything he had expected…

"Nathaniel…" Dorian trailed off, at a loss of what to say that wouldn't give anything away. Trevelyan grinned, obviously pleased with the use of his first name. "We should turn in," he finally stated.

"I suppose trying to rescue our scouts while exhausted is a bad idea," Nathaniel conceded.

"More likely we'd be joining them," Dorian muttered. He ignored the way his body flushed when Nathaniel chuckled. "Good night, Nathaniel." Before the man could react, Dorian ducked into the tent he shared with Cole. Releasing a shaky sigh, he laid down and tried to sleep.

~Morning~

Dorian groaned as the dim light entered the tent but he left his bedroll anyway. He slumped into the seat next to Cole but made no move for food or drink. His head felt stuffed and it was clear to the mage that he had spent too much time in this horrible, damp weather. Still, their soldiers wouldn't rescue themselves.

"Sleep well?" Nathaniel asked politely.

"Racing thoughts swirling around, so many possible outcomes, terror and anticipation, choking on words, mustn't say the wrong thing." Cole answered. Dorian groaned as Nathaniel and Blackwall both looked to the mage for an explanation.

"Cole, what did I tell you about reading my mind?" he asked.

"Do it quietly," the Spirit answered dutifully. "But it _hurts,"_ he added. "I can help."

"NO." Dorian told him sternly. "Maker, Cole, just… let it alone," he sighed as he rubbed his temples. "Give me a shout when we're leaving," he added before heading back to the tent.

"I'm not doing it right," Cole told Nathaniel sadly. "But there are so many hurts – I don't know which to unravel first."

"It's alright, Cole. You'll figure it out," Nathaniel assured him before he stood up and trailed after the mage.

Dorian was not surprised to find Nathaniel ducking into the tent. It seemed that the Inquisitor was always turning up in the same vicinity as Dorian these days. He would find it annoying if he weren't so smitten with the man.

"Are you alright?" Nathaniel asked. Dorian tried to ignore the way Nathaniel was scrutinizing him. The warrior's eyes raked over the other man, cataloging every detail. The findings left him displeased and a frown marred his face. "Are you getting sick?" he asked.

"It's a cold, Nathaniel," Dorian sighed. He was too tired to fight. "No one ever died from a cold," he added. Nathaniel's frown deepened and he moved closer to the mage. A hand was placed on Dorian's forehead. Dorian startled and began to pull away. Nathaniel snagged one of the mage's wrists with his other hand, tugging Dorian back into his vicinity.

"You're burning up," Nathaniel muttered. "You're also extremely flushed."

"I'm fine, Inquisitor," Dorian snapped as he jerked out of the other man's grasp. He would never tell the man that his flush had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with his proximity.

"It's no use asking you to stay behind, is it?" Trevelyan asked. The resulting glare was all the answer he needed. He sighed but didn't argue. "We're leaving now," he announced before pulling back a tent flap and motioning for Dorian to exit first.

The walk through the mud was mostly silent. Dorian wasn't in a chatting mood, though he made a few of his trademark sarcastic quips, and his taciturn mood seemed to have rubbed off on Nathaniel. While Dorian appreciated the reprieve the silence unnerved him more.

"That little trick, Cole, when you dip into someone's mind and take a drink? Do you choose what you're looking for, or is it random?" he asked.

"It has to be hurt, or a way to help the hurt. That's what calls me." Cole answered. He went quiet for a moment and Dorian felt a moment of dread. "Rilienus, skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles... He would have said yes."

"I'll...thank you not to do that again, please," the mage responded, purposely ignoring how Trevelyan's head had snapped to the right to stare at Dorian. He was thankful when they came upon Sky Watcher. It helped morale to hear that their soldiers were still alive and Dorian was intensely interested in how the Avvar used flocking birds as an augury. But his interest had to be put on hold and the group resumed its trek towards the remaining Avvar.

As they neared Hargrave Keep, undead began rising at an ever increasing rate. Despite their best efforts to cut through wave after wave kept coming. Dorian could feel his irritation growing – knew what it meant.

"Head for the Keep!" he shouted as the air around him began crackling. Nathaniel's protests cut off as Blackwall began hauling him towards the gate. Cole's eyes widened before he too disappeared and Dorian let down his walls. The anger and frustration that had been building inside of him since Crestwood poured out, incinerating everything in his path. With the path ahead clear, Dorian walked towards the gate, flames still burning around him, licking at the corpses and searching for anything it might have missed. As he crossed the threshold the gate slammed shut behind him and the gate in front of him opened.

"We may not get along, but I'm damn happy you're on our side," Blackwall told him as he saw the bodies outside the keep. Dorian gave the Warden a tight smile as he struggled to put out the still burning flames in his hands. There was a reason, he mused, that magic was meant to be kept free from emotion.

"It's so _angry_." Cole exclaimed.

"Not now, Cole," Dorian said tightly. As the flames finally flickered out of existence the mage sighed in relief. The party moved forward and despite the Inquisitor's hesitance as bringing Dorian he was happy the man was there. Shields definitely helped as Dorian and Cole took out the archers while Nathaniel and Blackwall focused on the warriors. The Avvar were tough, tougher than expected but the Inquisitor finally won the battle, freed their people and recruited a new ally. Blackwall was content with the new Grey Warden finds, Cole was pleased that they helped people and Dorian just wanted to go back to Skyhold without any more embarrassing incidents.

"Why did you leave your home, Dorian?" Cole asked softly as they headed back to camp. The mage sighed – hopes dashed.

"You know why. I had to stop the Venatori," he answered, praying that Cole would leave it there. He didn't.

"It was more...it was the man with your eyes...angry, walking on cobblestones, 'I'm on my own now'."

"Digging around in my head again, are you?" Dorian sighed. The thing that left him most disconcerted was that he didn't know when Cole was poking around in his head. There was no indication.

"You said I could ask questions!" the spirit replied. It was true, Dorian reasoned. He'd been so interested in learning more about Cole and Cole had been so accommodating about answering Dorian's questions that Dorian hadn't thought twice about extending the invitation.

"Rather like inviting someone into your house and they walk off with the silverware!" he sighed. Cole seemed to sense that the mage didn't want to talk about it and dropped the subject. The rain had seeped into his mood by the time they returned to camp. He felt drained after his fire display at the Keep and a dull throb had settled into his temples. He excused himself from dinner and collapsed into his bedroll. He must have slept deeply as he didn't hear Cole enter the tent. The morning found the dull ache transformed into a splitting migraine that not even healing magic could get rid of. But Dorian had been conditioned from birth to never show weakness. He pasted a jovial grin on his face and joined his companions around the fire. He faltered slightly as the smells of breakfast reached him – his stomach revolted at the thought of food – but he tapped into his iron Tevinter resolve and sat down with a flourish. "And how is everyone this morning?" he asked. He waived away the plate that was brought to him, barely swallowing back the bile.

"He needs soup," Cole whispered to the cook. "Like Nanny used to make when Mother and Father were too busy. Warm and spicy – burns the fever out of you."

"You **are** sick!" Nathaniel exclaimed. "Are you worse than yesterday?" he asked as he stood and circled around the fire to Dorian's side.

"You were sick yesterday?" Blackwall asked in genuine surprise. "And you still managed to…" he trailed off, giving the Tevinter an appraising look.

"Undead swarming. Keep them safe. So many needlessly dead here. Crestwood. The caves. Don't think of the caves. Burning hot – rage. Fire exploding but after, cold. So cold and tired." Cole stated, disappearing from the Cook's side and reappearing next to his companions.

"Yes, thank you, Cole." Dorian interrupted.

"Dorian, why do you never say what you mean?" the spirit asked.

"I could ask you the same question," the mage countered, raising an eyebrow. Cole gave him a confused look but let the matter drop. Now if Dorian could get Nathaniel to quit hovering over him his day would be perfect. "Really, Inquisitor, I am fine. If we were traveling anywhere but Skyhold it might be an issue. However, the way back is mostly clear."

"He has a fair point," Blackwall agreed. "Besides, this swamp isn't going to help his health – best place for him to recuperate would be the castle."

"See, it can't be a bad idea if both Blackwall and myself agree," Dorian stated, giving the burly man a half-smile. Nathaniel sighed but couldn't argue with the reasoning.

"All right," he agreed. "We'll head back to Skyhold but you stick by me the entire time," he ordered.

"That hardly seems well thought out, Inquisitor." Dorian told him as he accepted his soup from a young elven lass. "You have other mages to travel with while I recover but the Inquisition has only one Inquisitor. You would do better to keep your distance," he told the man, gently pushing him further away.

"But…" Nathaniel protested.

"The lad has a point, Inquisitor. Let me or the spirit stay with him," Blackwall interjected. Dorian left it to the warrior to carry on the argument and turned his attention to his rapidly cooling soup. The taste wasn't quite the same since the South didn't have the exact ingredients but it was delicious nonetheless. Southern food could be so bland and it was nice to finally sample something with flavor to it. He savored it as Nathaniel and Blackwall fought together. The disagreement seemed to perturb their spirit friend, who shuffled closer to the mage, soaking in his contentment.

"Careful Cole. I don't want you to get sick either," he warned.

"I can't get sick," Cole answered. It was clear the young man was confused at the mere suggestion of getting sick which presented a solution to the current predicament.

"Not that I'm not enjoying the circular arguments," Dorian interjected, disrupting the heated discussion between the two warriors. "But our rogue friend just brought up a very good point," he informed them. The two men turned to look at Dorian who motioned for Cole to repeat himself.

"Well, isn't that convenient," Blackwall chuckled after hearing Cole's news.

"Cole, do you mind staying with Dorian for the return trip?" Nathaniel asked, clearly put out that he wasn't getting his way. Or maybe that was just the mage's mind playing tricks on him.

"No. I _like_ helping people," the spirit reminded the group. "I can answer his questions and he can answer mine."

"Lovely," Dorian sighed. It was going to be a long trip back to Skyhold.

~Review~

 


	4. Chapter 4

Despite Dorian's attempts to wave off concerns, he was much sicker than even he initially thought. By the time they reached Skyhold he was barely lucid, fever ravaging his body while the man shivered, feeling nothing but cold. He was immediately sequestered in his quarters where he spent the next few weeks floating in and out of a mindless stupor. He remembered bits and pieces – Varric, Sera, Vivienne and even Krem had all taken turns keeping an eye on him. Cole had popped in and out, helping as only he could. Water and food always arrived precisely when Dorian thought about it and he made a mental note to thank the man. The advisors had also checked in on the Tevinter mage – they had all grown fond of him in their own way. It also provided them with an opportunity to speak with the Inquisitor, who had refused to quit Dorian's quarters since he first carried him there.

"If you keep frowning like that, you'll get wrinkles," Dorian told him. He had woken to find Trevelyan scowling at a letter in his hand. In truth, Dorian had been awake for several minutes, trying to figure out how to best address the fact that the Inquisitor had apparently made himself at home in the other man's bedroom. He decided the best course of action was to do as he did best: ignore it.

"You're awake!" Nathaniel exclaimed, dropping the letter onto a table and rushing over to the other man. "I was getting worried…you were out of it for so long. How are you feeling?" he asked. Dorian took a few moments to parse out what had been said. Nathaniel had spoken softly, his words sometimes running together, making it difficult to catch everything.

"I am…better," Dorian stated. He had thought about giving a flippant answer, waving off the Inquisitor's worries but he was learning that this didn't work. "How long has it been?" he asked as he ran a hand through his hair. He fought not to grimace at the feel of it – Maker he must look a sight. He was going to need a good washing up.

"We arrived back at Skyhold a fortnight ago," Nathaniel told him as he sat in the chair next to the bed. "You only started coming out of your fever a few days ago." Dorian sighed. Perfect. He had inconvenienced the entire Inquisition and who knew what he said during his fever induced dreams.

"Well," he stated, shoving his worry to the back of his mind, "then we best get back into the thick of things." He sat up smoothly, concealing how his arms shook with the effort. "What's happened since the Fallow Mire?" He asked.

"Whoa! Hold on," the warrior protested. One of his hands shot out, landing on the mage's bare chest and keeping him in the bed. "Dorian, you're still very ill. You'll be lucky if the healers allow you outside the walls before next month."

"And what would you have me do?" Dorian argued. "Sit here idly while the rest of you gallivant around Thedas?" he demanded. "There is too much to be done – too much at risk – for me to lay around like dead weight," he snapped. He knew he should not be arguing with the man in charge but he meant every word he said. Besides, he was sick. Didn't that earn him some leeway?

"Is that what you think?" Nathaniel asked, bringing the mage's wandering thoughts back to the matter at hand. "You're _healing_ , Dorian. And if Tevinter teaches you that getting sick is a weakness, then…" he shook his head before looking away and gritting his teeth. "Then Tevinter is more fucked up than I thought it was," he sighed as he shook his head and looked away. Dorian remained silent though he didn't disagree. Nathaniel looked back at the mage when he felt a hand cover his. A quick glance down confirmed it; Dorian had gently placed his own hand on top of Nathaniel's hand.

"Whatever the reason – a quirk of character or my Tevinter upbringing – I dislike not being of use. I will wait before returning to the party but at least permit me to assist with research in the meantime." Dorian requested. Nathaniel gave the man a slow smile before capturing Dorian's hand between his own. Dorian was going to blame his face flushing on his illness.

"I think that can be arranged."

And so it went. Trevelyan returned to his Inquisitorial duties while Dorian stayed in his quarters researching. A flurry of messengers and tranquil entered and exited his room for several hours of the day and the rest of the time he spent resting. Finally he was well enough to return to his duties, which was where Trevelyan found him when he next returned to Skyhold.

"There you are!" he greeted with a jovial grin. "I stopped by your quarters but you weren't there."

"Obviously, as I am most definitely here," Dorian responded with a smirk.

"Glad you're feeling better," Nathanial told him. "Anything interesting?" he asked, motioning to the letter in Dorian's hand.

"A letter regarding Felix – Alexius' son," the mage told him as he turned around to fully face the Inquisitor. "He went to the Magisterium. Stood on the Senate floor and told them of you. A glowing testimonial, I'm informed. No news on the reaction but everyone back home is talking. Felix always was as good as his word."

"Was?" The Inquisitor asked. Dorian pushed back his own grief.

"He's dead." He said shortly. "The blight caught up with him," Dorian informed him, dreading the empty platitudes.

"Are you alright?" The question caught the mage off-guard but a glance at the other man confirmed that he asked the question with sincerity.

"He was ill, and thus on borrowed time anyhow," he answered, trying to remain pragmatic while warmth bloomed in his chest at Nathaniel's concern.

"That doesn't mean that you can't regret his death," Trevelyan told him. Dorian gave a small, tight smile.

"I know," he sighed. "Felix used to sneak me treats from the kitchens when I was working late in his father's study. ' _Don't get into trouble on my behalf,'_ I'd tell him. _'I like trouble,'_ he'd say." Dorian told him. He hadn't meant to share all of this but for the life of him he couldn't stop. "Tevinter could use more mages like him. Those that put the good of others above themselves." Reality was setting in as Dorian continued to speak. Felix really was dead.

"Were the two of you…?" Nathaniel trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Dorian looked at the Inquisitor but there was no judgment, just curiosity.

"Felix and I? What an odd question," he mused. Trevelyan's face remained passive and Dorian relented. "No, I had no intention of abusing Alexius' hospitality by seducing his son. Not that I've been proper my whole life, by any means," he added, just to be clear. "It wasn't like that. Even in illness, Felix was the best of us. With him around, you knew things could be better." He bit back a sigh. He was going to miss his friend dearly.

"You make it sound like he was better than you," Nathaniel told him. And what an odd thing to say, Dorian mused. To be honest, Dorian _did_ think Felix was better.

"What a mad thing to say," he gasped theatrically. "Few people are better than I." He didn't think his performance was quite up to par, but he was still feeling raw and this heartfelt discussion was taxing his reserves. Nathanial said nothing but the look on his face spoke volumes. "Very well," Dorian sighed. "A better person, clearly. Not nearly as handsome," he added before turning back to his books. He took a few steps before turning back and adding, "Thankfully Felix wasn't the only decent sort kicking around Thedas." He didn't stick around to hear what, if anything, Nathaniel said in response.

It was a welcome distraction, flirting with the Inquisitor. Dorian knew people in the South were much more open about their sexuality but it was something else to see it in person. And another thing entirely to experience it in person… It was not something he had expected given that he was a mage from Tevinter. Still, Nathaniel seemed interested and Dorian…well, Dorian had never been good at staying away from temptation. But temptation would have to wait, he thought as he scowled at the report on his desk. More Venatori throughout Fereldan and Orlais. Although Dorian has no doubt Leliana had read the letter already, he forwarded it to Josephine anyway. The Inquisitor would want to know about the growing numbers _before_ they got out of control. And Dorian, he just wanted his countrymen to stop being so idiotic.

Dorian stared at the note in his hand. Normally he received missives from Leliana or Cullen based on the information he provided but this note came from Nathaniel himself. They had followed up on the information that Dorian had provided and had discovered three groups of Ventaori – two in the Hinterlands and one in the Exalted Plains. Nathaniel wanted him in the party when they eliminated the targets.

The request gave the Tevinter mage some pause. There could be several reasons for the request but one in particular gave him cause for concern. Dorian had informed the Inquisitor and the advisors that he had once called these three 'friends'. To specifically request for Dorian to be in the party…could it be a test of his loyalty? A frown marred his face. If it was a test of loyalty then it was one Dorian intended to pass with flying colors.

The Hinterlands were much calmer than Dorian remembered. Nathanial has poured a lot of time and effort into beating back the rogue Templars and the apostates. He'd also trekked all over the map to close rifts and supply the refugees with food and blankets. Dorian was sure it must have been a splendid sight. Alas, he had still been keeping an eye on Alexius at the time.

They started up near Redcliffe farms as Nathaniel had promised to take a note to Dennet's wife. A group of Venatori were also camped just to the north and Dorian could feel an itch settle deep into his bones. He wasn't quite sure how to feel. He was excited, yes, but there was also a deep melancholy as well. Which of his friends would be the first to die? He needed a distraction. Sera, for all her redeeming qualities, would not understand. Thankfully, Cassandra was in their party today.

"Cassandra, my mother has a friend who's a Pentaghast. Perhaps you know him?" he asked. The Seeker sighed, but answered.

"The Pentaghasts are a large clan, Dorian. I cannot know them all, nor would I want to," she informed him. Her tone indicated that she was not interested in continuing the conversation but Dorian persisted.

"Enormously fat man. Three chins, four mansions, five ways to sell you out, as Mother liked to say." He rattled off. He saw a small smile flicker across the warrior's lips and he waited to hear her response.

"Oh. I do know him: Cousin Loren, with the wandering hands." The rest of the trip was filled with Cassandra telling him stories of her cousin and how his 'wandering hands' had eventually led to his being asked to leave Nevarra. Dorian listened intently, interjecting his thoughts and laughing where appropriate. It was the type of thing he'd write home about – if he were on speaking terms with home, that is.

As the group climbed up a hill conversation died down. In a small alcove in the hills, a group of Venatori was camped out. Dorian scanned the small gathering, wondering who among them he knew. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a familiar face.

"Darinius," he muttered. "You damn fool." He shook his head at the questioning looks his companions gave him. "Let's go while we have the element of surprise," he whispered. The group charged forward, Dorian casting shields around his companions before he began throwing offensive magic at the enemy. Sera provided cover fire while Nathanial and Cassandra charged into battle without a moment's hesitation. All in all, the battle – more of a skirmish – was over before it even began. Dorian walked through the camp afterwards, but he didn't recognize any of the other mages.

"You alright?" Sera asked, sidling up beside the man.

"It needed to be done," he stated lightly. "Darinius always was a power-grabbing imbecile. I had told him before that it would get him killed. I just never thought that I'd be assisting with it," he confessed.

"He threw a fireball at my face," the archer told him.

"Thus why I threw an ice spear at him," he told her, a small smile gracing his lips. He would never understand Sera's train of thought but he'd follow along.

"That's why I like you, Dorian." She told him, clapping him on the back. "Come on, let's go kill more of your friends." She scampered ahead, leaving the mage to trail after her. He chuckled lightly but followed.

It took them several days to reach the forest camp and during that time period Dorian was slowly being driven insane. He had noticed it shortly after they wiped out Darinius' group: Nathaniel kept throwing him look after look. If he were more certain about what those looks meant he might have dragged Nathaniel off for some wildly inappropriate behavior. As it was, he ignored the Inquisitor and continued his conversations with Cassandra and his games with Sera.

"Demons! Flappy robes!" Sera spat.

"Thieves! Dog stink!" Dorian countered.

"Culty shits!" She shot back and Dorian had to bite back a laugh.

"Treacherous Teyrns!" He quite admired his alliteration on that one.

"What?" Sera asked, confusion clearly evident. "It's not a proper game of 'Your People are Shit' if you make up words!"

"Teyrn is a Fereldan title, beneath only the family of the king." Dorian informed her. "I'd have expected _you_ of all people to know that."

"You're…well, that's…Smartasses!" she told him, trying to recover her footing.

"Too late! I believe that's my round." He told her.

"Piss!" the elf cursed. Nathaniel shot his companions a look of bemusement while Cassandra did her best to look unamused. It wasn't quite successful but it was a good effort. They stopped at the forest camp for the night and Dorian knew they would be eliminating another group of Venatori tomorrow. He wondered which of his friends it would be this time.

"You doing okay?" The question was soft, as if the other man was scared of spooking him. The Tevinter could quite understand why, seeing as how the rest of their group had turned in hours ago. Still, Dorian remained outside of his tent, gaze alternating between the fire and the stars.

"I'm fine," Dorian told him. "Just wondering if we'll be eliminating Florian or Julia tomorrow."

"Would you rather stay at the camp?" Nathaniel asked.

"No," the mage told him quickly. "Don't misunderstand me. I don't mind being part of the group eliminating them – I _approve_ of wiping out this menace but…" He sighed. He always hated having to put his emotions into words. "I can despise the Venatori while still remembering the type of people they were. Darinius could never have been called a _good_ man. He was always obsessed with power. But Florian and Julia…" he trailed off with a shake of his head.

"Why do you think they joined the Venatori?" the Inquisitor questioned as he moved to sit down next to the other man.

"Why does anyone join a cult?" Dorian countered. "The promise of something better. The elite of Tevinter have been trying to reclaim our glory days for centuries. The ongoing war with the Qun only continues to weaken our country. And then along comes someone who says they will accomplish what you've been fighting for your whole life. You just have to pledge your service to them, do as they say and everything will be better. History is full of such occurrences. Only this time, it could actually happen – provided the world isn't destroyed first."

"Do you think that you ever would have wound up with them?" The question took Dorian by surprise. Wind up with the Venatori?

"Is that why you asked me to be in the party?" Dorian asked, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of his voice. "What, did you want to watch my reaction as I disposed of a group of Venatori that included people I _used_ to call friends?" he demanded. His voice didn't raise but his tone took on a dangerous edge.

"That's not… I didn't…" Nathaniel stumbled. "Maker, I'm making a mess out of this," he muttered, dropping his head in his hands. Dorian took pity on the other man, biting back the rest of what he was going to say. Better to listen than to react before having all the information. "I asked you to be part of the group because I thought you _wanted_ to be," he explained. "If I'd have known it was going to cause you distress I wouldn't have asked."

"I…thank you. I do want to be here," he told the other man. "Perhaps I used to call them friends but that ended when they joined the Venatori. Thus, they need to die," he sighed.

"It's as simple as that for you?" Nathaniel asked, surprise clearly evident in his voice.

"To choose between the Venatori and the Inquisition?" Dorian clarified. At Nathaniel's assenting nod, the mage answered. "Yes. I will always choose the Inquisition. And I will always put the lives of our people first. If it came down to saving Cassandra over Julia, I would pick Cassandra," he shrugged. The smile Nathaniel graced him with caused warmth to blossom in his stomach. Andraste preserve him, the Inquisitor was going to be the death of him. "We should get some rest," he stated. "We have a lot of Venatori to kill tomorrow." Something flickered across Nathaniel's face but he nodded his agreement. "Good night…Nathaniel," Dorian told him, for once using the Inquisitor's name without prompting.

"Good night, Dorian," he responded, a pleased smile gracing his face. And Dorian thought he could get used to this odd dance they had going. He still wasn't quite sure what it was. He was used to fast and fiery – quick, hard kisses hidden in dark corners of a room. That's how things usually worked in the Imperium. This, however, was different. It was a slow burn that he'd never experienced before. It could ultimately end in disaster but, Maker save him, he wanted to see it through.

~Review~


	5. Chapter 5

The next day brought steady rain to the Hinterlands. Dorian found it ironic seeing as how the weather perfectly reflected his mood. His talk with Nathaniel had left him feeling better about the reasons Dorian was brought along on this quest but he was still melancholy over the fates that awaited Florian and Julia. Darinius was easy. As he told the Inquisitor, the mage was not someone who could be called a "good" man. But Florian and Julia were trickier. At one time Florian had been a strong ally of Maevaris and Julia had been one of the few mages to speak up on Dorian's behalf after the incident at the Circle of Carastes. Their tentative friendship had lasted even after Dorian was shipped off to Minrathous, although they fell out of touch when Dorian disappeared three months later. But once Alexius took over the young Altus' tutelage they were quick to get back in touch with each other. He had lost contact once leaving Tevinter and thus had no idea what had made the young woman turn to the Venatori. Not that it would have made much of a difference. Like he had said the previous evening, Julia was now the enemy and thus, she needed to die.

Dorian sighed and dragged himself out of his bedroll. The brisk air forced a shiver out of him and he quickly dressed. Since his illness Dorian's wardrobe had slowly grown and the newest additions provided more warmth. At first the Altus had been annoyed. He had told the Inquisitor not to worry about the armor, and he had spoken with both Leliana and Josephine about the matter. He was disconcerted to find that both women merely giggled at him before informing him that Nathaniel had made no official request for Inquisition resources. Which meant the man had procured the new armor independently and with his own money. The thought still made his stomach churn with butterflies. For all that Dorian had flirted with the other man, they were now edging dangerously into courting territory and the mage was unsure how he felt about it. Perhaps it was because he had no idea what, precisely, the warrior himself wanted. Dorian sighed but pushed the thought from his mind. Now was not the time to be thinking of relationships.

Exiting the tent, he quickly spotted the warriors huddled around the meager fire. Sera was nowhere to be found, though if he knew the elf at all she was most likely hiding up a tree, waiting the opportunity to scare one of their recruits. He bit back a smile at the thought. Dorian didn't have any siblings but he liked to think of the rogue as an annoying little sister who happened to be very useful in a fight. Who would also raid his goods and quite possibly steal what she found if given the opportunity. The thought made him smile and he shook his head in fond annoyance. He wasn't sure what he expected when he joined the Inquisition but this certainly was not it.

"Good morning," Cassandra greeted, bringing the Tevinter out of his thoughts and back into the moment. "Did you sleep well?" she continued.

"As well as one can when traipsing through uncivilized territory," Dorian responded as he took a seat. A breakfast plate quickly appeared in front of him and although he did not have much of an appetite, he made a show of picking at the food.

"He means he slept like shite," Sera shouted from somewhere above them. "Even after he and the Inquisitor were all cozy for an hour!" Dorian sighed, although it turned into a short laugh when Nathaniel squawked indignantly.

"My sleep was _fine,_ Sera. And you're taking your spying too far if you're watching me sleep," he added as an afterthought. Cassandra made a small noise of agreement and Dorian chanced a glance in her direction. The Seeker looked like her usual self, although perhaps a bit tired after all the trekking they had done through the woods. It hadn't been easy on the mage or the rogue and Dorian would bet that the strain was worse on the warriors with their heavy armor. "Doing alright?" he asked softly.

"I will be happy to return to Skyhold," she told him after a moment's hesitation.

"I think we all will," Nathaniel answered with a small smile. "Well, let's not waste any more time."

Dorian stood in the middle of the camp and took in the wreckage. The tents were still smoldering, tables and chairs were knocked over and excess magic still hung heavy in the air. To his right Sera was retrieving her salvageable arrows while Nathaniel and Cassandra caught their breath. The fight was a bit more intense than the one a few days ago and they had lost their element of surprise when a _bear_ , of all things, stumbled upon their party as they prepared to attack. Dorian would laugh at the absurdity of it all if he didn't feel like crying.

_I need to write Maevaris_ , he thought. _She'll want to know about Florian._ And suddenly Dorian couldn't just leave the man to rot out in the wilderness.

"Alright?" Nathaniel asked softly as his hand came to rest on Dorian's shoulder. Dorian hesitated, but finally pushed the words out.

"Is there any way to have his body shipped to Tevinter? Or to at least allow someone to come pick him up?" he questioned. He could tell that his request took the Inquisitor by surprise but the other man rallied.

"I don't see why not. The area is pretty clear… I'm sure Leliana knows someone who would take care of it quickly and discreetly," the warrior responded. He looked at the mage with a searching gaze, as if trying to figure out where this request suddenly came from.

"Thank you," Dorian told him softly. "I'll let Maevaris know." The hand on his shoulder gave a small squeeze before it disappeared and the mage temporarily mourned its loss. But their work wasn't done. Julia still waited for them in the Exalted Plains.

They spent one more night camped out in the Hinterlands before heading to the Exalted Plains. The travel took them about a month and Dorian was feeling exhausted by the time they set up camp. Nathaniel was in good spirits despite the war ravaging the area. There were Venatori to take care of and one of Vivienne's books for the circle could be picked up. Things, however, quickly took a turn for the worse. They were immediately attacked upon leaving the camp and it was clear from the first fort they passed that someone was involved in necromancy.

"Ugh, more dead bodies," Sera groaned. Dorian himself silently shivered. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to be okay with dead bodies again.

"Corpses do tend to be a staple of the enemy as of late," he stated. Sera wrinkled her nose in disgust and even the Seeker seemed perturbed. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"I thought I had escaped the moaning of the undead when I left Navarra," she stated. "I forgot how…discomforting the noise could be," she confessed. Dorian gave her shoulder a gentle pat as Nathaniel greeted a soldier on the ramparts. He seemed to be the last man standing, although he had no real information to tell them about the swarm of undead.

"So, Celene and Gaspard war for the thrown. A splinter group crops up hoping to claim the Dales as their own and suddenly undead are besieging both armies. Quite convenient, no?" Dorian asked breezily. He was surprised by the rather thunderous look on the Inquisitor's face. "Inquisitor?" he asked.

"I don't care who you support in this ridiculous war. These men and women gave their lives for their cause. They deserve to be burned honorably – not to have their bodies desecrated by necromancy." He paused, stopping to take a deep breath. The action itself seemed to help him reign in his emotions before he continued. "When I find the person who did this…" he trailed off.

Dorian swallowed around the lump in his throat. It was quite clear to him that the Inquisitor was unaware of the Tevinter's specialty. He himself had been staying away from necromancy spells lately but he wondered how the warrior would react if Dorian ever needed to cast such a spell in the future. The thought put a damper to his normally chipper mood. Still, best not to dwell.

"I believe it is safe to presume that we may find a clue within the ramparts," he stated. "Shall we enter?"

In hindsight, it probably wasn't his best suggestion. Undead crawled out from the ground in every direction and Arcane Horrors guarded the fire pits where the bodies were stored. All in all, the fight was taxing Dorian's already frayed nerves.

"Clean-up is going to be a mess," Nathaniel muttered as Dorian set fire to the last pit. This time he couldn't stop the shudder as the flames reached the corpse of the Arcane Horror. He felt lucky, then, that the only party member who spotted his moment of weakness was his elven friend. Her eyes narrowed but for once she kept blessedly silent. "Come on," Trevelyan stated as he headed back to the signaling horn. "We should let Corporal Rosselin know the ramparts are safe again."

"So…" Sera stated, holding a discussion to the side while Nathaniel argued with the Corporal. He wanted them to head to Fort Revasan and speak with the Usuper's Marshal. For once, the Inquisitor was not inclined to distribute aid. Dorian blithely wondered if this is because Gaspard has openly stated that he intended to reclaim Fereldan once he becomes Emperor.

"Yes?" he asked, tearing his attention away from the argument.

"What's got you all weird with that demon? I mean, I know why I don't like demons – and we've been fighting plenty of them – but that's the first time that you've seemed…weird," she finished.

"Do you know how an Arcane Horror is, Sera?" he asked softly.

"A demon. We covered this." She stated blandly. Dorian gave her a wry smile.

"An Arcane Horror is created when a Pride demon takes control of a mage's corpse," he told her. It took a moment, but realization finally dawned on the elf's face.

" _What?!_ You mean… Then you could… Ugh!" she shuddered. Dorian sighed.

"What are you talking about?" Cassandra asked.

"Nothing," Dorian said lightly. "So, where are we off to?"

"To Fort Revasan." Nathanial sighed as he rejoined the group. "As much as I dislike the idea of giving aid to Gaspard, or any of his supporters, it seems that the group of Venatori we seek are further north. We have to go right by the ramparts and, as we've seen, the undead don't just stick to the buildings. It's best just to take out the pits and be done with it," he stated.

"Of course it is," the Seeker stated wryly. "When has anything ever been easy?" She looked up and shielded her eyes with a hand. "If we hurry we may be able to reach the fort by evening. We can rest, restock materials and head out again in the morning."

"Great, more trudging," Dorian sighed but followed his companions anyway. "I don't see why we couldn't have horses."

"You know Dennet's rules," Nathaniel chided.

"Yes, yes," he agreed, waiving away the warrior's next words. "You Southerners are _fastidious_ about your rules."

"Not all of us," Cassandra stated with a pointed look at a certain rogue. Sera stuck her tongue out in response. Silence prevailed for a few moments but their earlier discussion must have been weighing on Sera's mind.

"Do me a favor, Dorian?" she asked. "Give me some warning if you are going to bust out in demons or something." The mage laughed at the absurdity. More so because he wouldn't be able to give her warning about becoming an Arcane Horror since he'd already be dead – a fact that seemed to have sailed over her head. Still, he recognized the request as her way of stating that she refused to be afraid of the mage.

"How do you picture me _bursting out_? I'm walking around and oops, demon? I mean it _could_ happen, despite my training," he continued. "You could also trip and impale your eye on an arrow."

"So are you going to warn me or not?" She demanded.

"Certainly," Dorian agreed. "But only because you are so dear to me."

"I don't think I will ever understand you two and how you interact with each other." Nathaniel stated. There was a note of fondness in his voice and the mage bit back a smile.

" _I_ will never understand how Southerners drink whatever swill you serve in your taverns but I've stopped questioning and just accept it," he retorted.

"Fair enough," the warrior laughed. The next few hours were spent mostly in silence as they fought to catch their breath between battles. If it wasn't wandering demons, it was the Freeman and if it wasn't the Freeman it was wandering undead. Tevinter may be known for its ruthlessness and their (literal) cut-throat politics but the sheer chaos of the Dales put even the Imperium to shame.

"Andraste, it never ends," Dorian muttered as another Terror disintegrated back into the Fade. He gasped for breath and grasped for the frayed edges of his control. The pace of the Inquisition, the demands on its members far surpassed anything Dorian had to face down during his training in Tevinter. He was nearly at his wits' end.

"There!" Cassandra shouted. Ahead of them was the entrance to Fort Revasan. All that stood between them and the Fort was a horde of undead led by demons. Dorian really tried to stay quiet but he just couldn't help it. He started to laugh.

~Review~


	6. Chapter Six

“Arcane Horrors. It’s always Arcane Horrors,” Dorian muttered when he finally got himself to stop laughing. Their group had quickly dispatched the group of demons and undead before entering the fort.

 

“They do seem to be unusually concentrated in this area,” Cassandra agreed. Her eyes were trained on Trevelyan as the man engaged in a heated discussion with Marshal Proulx. “I do not know what seems to be attracting them, though,” she confessed. Dorian had a few theories but kept silent. He was not ready to share his ideas just yet. Instead, he watched Trevelyan as well. Sera had long since disappeared and the mage had no doubt that she was wandering the fort, picking up anything they might be able to use. There were times when her thieving habits worked in their favor.

 

“Alright, we’ve got a room for the night,” Nathaniel told them. “Unfortunately, that means we’re going to have to investigate the River Garrison further north.”

 

“ _What?”_ Cassandra demanded while Dorian simply sighed. It seem ed like all they did anymore was trade favors. Nathaniel grimaced but explained.

 

“They have men stationed there that they haven’t heard back from. In exchange for a place to sleep tonight, we’re going to check out the garrison and see why they haven’t gotten word to the Marshal.” His face clearly showed his displeasure at the task, but with the state of the Exalted Plains they could not afford to turn down a safe place to sleep. 

 

Dorian excused himself from the conversation and began wandering the fort. Eventually he found himself up on the battlements,  where he caught sight of Sera. The elf was lounging on the roof of one of the buildings looking extremely pleased with herself. Dorian had no doubt that come tomorrow, several of Gaspard’s soldiers would find themselves missing a variety of objects. He gave her a small, conspiratorial smile  before turning to look out on the plains.

 

From his history lessons, Dorian could recall that the Exalted Plains used to be mostly forest. Now, after all the fighting that had taken place, practically no trees remained. He felt himself saddened by the thought and he idly wondered how much blood would be spilled on this soil before either the world ended or everyone finally learned to get along.

 

“What’s on your mind?” a voice asked. Dorian startled, turning to find Nathaniel standing next to him. It seemed to be the man’s favorite location lately. Dorian turned back to his view and gestured with one hand.

 

“How many battles have been fought on these plains over the ages?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Nathaniel furrowed his brow in concentration as if trying to remember. “I don’t really want to know, Nathaniel,” he told the man. The warrior’s face smoothed as he abandoned his task, choosing instead to turn and face the mage more fully.

 

“You seem upset,” Nathaniel told him. The comment almost made the Tevinter startle again but he caught himself just in time.

 

“I am merely tired,” Dorian told the other man. “I am...unused to traveling for such extended periods of time,” he confessed before biting his tongue. It was so much easier to drop his guard when it was just the two of them. He needed to keep a better leash on his words lest he confess something he shouldn’t.

 

“I suppose the non-stop fighting is wearing everyone out, too,” Trevelyan sighed. “We should hopefully be done soon. From my understandings, the last Venatori group is up by the Riverside Garrison. We can take care of both tomorrow before heading back to Skyhold. Then,” he continued, expression hardening, “I’m bringing back our Templar allies and pounding this land into submission.”

 

“Ah, yes, your quaint Fereldan customs,” Dorian quipped. “When all else fails, beat it with a hammer. You and the Commander must get along quite well.” The comment startled a laugh out of the warrior and Dorian ignored how his heart stuttered at the sound.

 

“Commander Cullen and I agree on many things, but we still have our disagreements.”

 

“Mm, and did you not stop to consider that the majority of the undead are most likely coming from the ramparts themselves?” the mage asked. “I’ve no doubt that the nasty surprise we found earlier has been repeated at the other sites. Take care of those pits and the undead will no longer be an issue. As for the demons and Freemen,” Dorian shrugged. “The demons are most likely a result of all the death that’s taken place here. Find whoever is leading the Freemen and either capture or kill them and they’ll likely fall apart. Cowards don’t do well without a leader, after all.” Nathaniel chuckled again and Dorian found he had to bite back a smile. “We should turn in,” he announced. “Early start tomorrow and all that.”

 

“You always do that,” Nathaniel told him. Dorian paused mid-turn, shooting a questioning look over his shoulder at the warrior. “If you think we’re getting too close, or if there’s a pregnant pause, you look for an excuse to leave.”

 

“I-” Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. He knew damn well what he was doing. He just hadn’t expected Trevelyan to call him on it. “ _Vishante kaffas_.”

 

“Goodnight, Dorian.” Nathaniel told him, giving the mage an easy way out of the conversation.

 

“I...Goodnight, Inquisitor,” he replied before walking away as fast as he could without actually fleeing. He wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he wanted the conversation to end there. But it seemed he didn’t really get to make a choice. Nathaniel sat down next to him at breakfast the next morning.

 

“I thought we agreed that you would call me Nathaniel,” he told the mage without preamble. Dorian, who was still waking up, merely blinked at the other man. “Last night when you left, you called me Inquisitor,” Trevelyan explained with a smile. Dorian was ever so grateful that he’d been taught to control his blushes.

 

“Ah, so I did,” he murmured before taking a sip of his tea. “Dreadfully sorry. Won’t happen again.” Nathaniel merely smirked before setting off to ensure everything was ready for their departure. “Is he this adamant about everyone else using his first name?” he asked Sera later.

 

“The Inquisitor? Nah, I think he gave up on certain people ever calling him by anything other than his title. The advisers, Cassandra and Blackwall, they won’t ever call him anything but his title. Not sure about Egghead or the Bitch.” Sera told him, pausing for a moment to adjust her bow and arrows. “They might have their own names for him. I’ve got a nickname for him just like I do for _you,_ Lord Fancy Britches. But to answer your question, no. I think the only one he insists call him by his name is you. So, maybe you two stop your pining for each other and do some jousting, yeah?” Dorian sighed before changing the subject.

 

“For someone who hates the outdoors, you seem unusually fond of bad weather,” he told her. His change of subject seemed to throw her off and she sent him a questioning look.

 

“What’s that now?” she asked.

 

“The other day, you were outside in the rain, staring up with a grin on your face.” he said.

 

“I smile at clouds,” Sera informed him as if that sentence should explain everything.

 

“Of course you do.” Dorian agreed. He wouldn’t get any further by pushing the point. Agreement and then silence was a better way to get answers.

 

“What,” the elf asked. “I should hunch and swear at the rain pissing off my nose? Let the weather win? I smile the frig out of clouds. Maybe they get tired of trying.”

 

“Are we still talking about clouds?” the mage asked.

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind. Drinks and insults later?” he asked.

 

“We’re both buying. Then there’s double.”

 

I t felt comfortable to banter with Sera. He had slept surprising ly well the night before, which had soothed his frayed nerves. His magic was back under his control and for a moment he let himself forget that they were here to wipe out Venatori. That Julia was part of the Venatori. The ir path had taken them closer to the river, Nathaniel angling to close another fade rift before dealing with the Venatori or  the garrison.

 

“Reminds me of when mother would take me boating, in the summer,” Dorian mused as he caught sight of the water. “Well, she had the servants take me on the boat while she sat inside with a cool drink,” he amended. He turned away from the water and found his companions staring at him each with an inscrutable expression on their face. “What?” he asked. Nathaniel shook his head.

 

“Nothing. Let’s go,” he ordered.

 

“So, you’re fat with it, right?” Sera asked as he fell into step next to him.

 

“Me? Are you referring to...” he trailed off.

 

“Do you sleep on silk while gold shits down on you?” the elf asked. “Are you _rich?”_ Dorian’ s lips twisted into a wry smile.

 

“I left all that behind. Although I do miss the gold-shitting from time to time,” he told her. Sera scrutinized his face for a moment before answering.

 

“You really left it, huh? Knew you weren’t all bad,” she told him, nudging his arm. This time, Dorian gave her a small, soft smile. 

 

“Indeed.”

 

A lthough Sera had done a wonderful job of keeping the mage distracted and relatively relaxed, it all went out the window when they finally reached the Venatori group. Sera was perched at the top of the hill, staring down into a small valley where the group had apparently set up camp. There was a wall of boulders protecting their backs but the sides and front were open to attack. Dorian remained behind with Nathani e l and Cassandra, not wanting to see their enemies before the battle started. His stomach was in knots but his hands remained steady. This, he knew, would be the worst fight yet.

 

“There’s five of ‘em.” Sera told him when she scrambled back down the hill. “Mostly mages but they got one or two rogues. Still, should be a quick fight.”

 

“Ready?” Nathaniel asked. The question was posed to the entire party but Dorian knew it was his answer that counted. The mage pulled his shoulders back and stood to his full height.

 

“Let’s go,” he responded.

 

He didn’t know what he expected. Darinius had gone down quickly. Florian had lasted longer but it was still a quiet fight. But this...Julia was not Dorian’s equal but she was still a powerful mage. And while Darinius and Florian had held their tongues, Julia pleaded. Not for her life, no Tevinter would plead for their life – such a thing was _gauche_ – no, she pleaded for Dorian to _join them._ She wanted him to join a murderous, blood-mage fueled cult which was intent on bringing around the end of the world. He grit his teeth, forcing her voice from his head and focused on casting. In the end, Julia died in a pillar of flames.  Dorian was never entirely sure if it was the spell he cast or if Cassandra set the lyrium in Julia’s blood on fire. In the end, he thought, it doesn’t really matter. 

 

The Garrison was easy enough to take care of. A fade rift in the basement which was easily closed and they were heading back to their main camp by the early afternoon. While Nathaniel was not eager to help Gaspard’s troops, he had apparently taken Dorian’s advice into consideration because they stopped by the eastern rampart on their way back. This time they were greeted by more than just undead bodies. The Freemen had made the eastern ramparts a base of operations, leaving the party to cut through those still living in order to get to the undead. Still, they managed to get to the pit, even if only to find it being guarded.

 

“Who are _you?”_ the mage asked. “No, it doesn’t matter,” he said before they could reply. “This land belongs to the Freemen of the Dales. We will no longer submit to Celene or Gaspard. Brothers, attack!”

 

“Well, this will be _fun_ ,” Dorian said, casting a barrier around his comrades. Sera already had the sniper down while Nathaniel and Cassandra focused on the captain and veteran. “Alright then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

The mage, Dorian realized, was not actually all that powerful. He did, however, have considerable defense and armor. If Cassandra or Nathaniel had been available to Spell Purge him, the fight would have been over much more quickly.  As it was, the two mages traded ice and fire spells until the other man made a mistake. Seeing that the last of his allies were quickly failing, the mage decided to raise the undead to assist him. Dorian immediately ripped control away from the inexperienced elemental mage.

 

“ _What?”_ the mage demanded. “No! How did you do that?”

 

“A word of advice, hm?” Dorian told the man, preparing his next cast. “Don’t use necromancy spells around a mage who specialized in the field.” And then he released his spell. The mage went down and, from what Dorian could see, was not getting back up. “Damn fool,” he muttered before turning on his heel and lighting fire to the pit. When he looked back, Nathaniel and Cassandra had finished off the other Freemen along with the corpses. If either warrior noticed that the undead had not fought back, then they did not mention it. Just as well, Dorian thought. For the moment his secret was still safe. 

 

“That ought to cut down on the number of demons in the area,” Nathaniel stated as he watched the corpses burn.

 

“Good. Tired of demons ‘n shit,” Sera muttered, crossing her arms petulantly.

 

“With the bodies properly burned and the soldiers back in the ramparts, this area should be safer,” Cassandra told the other female. “Once we have rebuilt the bridge to Victory Rise, we can assist Celene’s forces as well. In the meantime, we can return to Skyhold.”

 

“That sounds like the best plan yet,” Nathaniel told the Seeker with a grin. “I look forward to actually sleeping in a bed again.”

 

D orian lost track of how long it took them to get back to Skyhold, but he couldn’t deny that he was happy to be back. The first thing he did was request a bath. Maker, but it felt good to be  _clean_ again. After that was accomplished, he collapsed into bed and slept for a full day.  Then he returned to his niche in the library and lost himself in his books. He was pleased to find that the Inquisition had been able to procure a couple of the books he had asked for and he was hoping he could find further information regarding the Magisters who entered the Fade. If he would find out who Corypheus was…

 

“Dorian, there’s a letter you need to see.” The Tevinter turned to see the Inquisitor approaching with an odd look on his face. Something about the look caused Dorian’s chest to constrict tightly but he ignored it, hoping to lighten the mood instead.

 

“A letter?” he asked. “Is it a _naughty_ letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?” he teased. Nathaniel rewarded him with a tight grin but his serious mood seemed to stay the same.

 

“Not quite. It’s from your father,” the warrior told him. Dorian’s playful mood was gone. The grin dropped from his face, his relaxed posture immediately tightened and the playful look in his eyes disappeared.

 

“From my father. I see. And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?” Dorian asked.

 

“A meeting.” Nathaniel said.

 

“Show me this letter.” he ordered. Trevelyan handed the papers over and watched as Dorian paced back and forth while reading. “ _I know my son,”_ he quoted. “What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble. This is so _typical.”_ Dorian was aware that he was sounding much like a spoiled teenager and yet he couldn’t stop himself. Try as he might, no matter how far he fled from Tevinter, his father followed like a long shadow. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

 

“That would be hard to do while I stood there,” Nathaniel stated as he crossed his arms across his chest. In one of the back corners of his mind, Dorian wondered why the warrior seemed so intent on keeping him safe. However, now he was more concerned with whatever plot his father seemed to be cooking up.

 

“He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle, although Maker knows why he’d think I would,” he huffed. Seriously, _Mother Giselle?_ “Let’s go. Let’s meet this so-called ‘family retainer’. If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone.” He paused before giving the other man a small smile. “You’re good at that. If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his wit’s end.”  Nathaniel paused before moving slightly closer to the taller man.

 

“There seems to be bad blood between you and your family.” he said softly. Dorian could not help the mirthless laugh that escaped.

 

“Interesting turn of phrase,” he told the man. “But you’re correct,” he continued on, before Nathaniel could get overly worried. “They don’t care for my choices, nor I for theirs.”

 

“Because you wouldn’t get married? Because you left?” Nathaniel asked.

 

“...That too.” Dorian told him. He didn’t really want to go into everything just yet, not when he still didn’t know where Nathaniel stood on this odd friendship they had going.

 

“Let’s go meet this retainer, then.”

 

“I wonder how much my father paid this man to wait around just in case I showed?” he sighed. “We’ll find out soon enough.” With uncharacteristic quietness, Dorian followed the Inquisitor out of Skyhold. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Dorian sighed as Nathaniel shot yet another worried glance over his shoulder. It had become an increasingly common experience over the past few days, ever since the two men had begun their excursion to Redcliffe. They had left in a hurry – Dorian barely had enough time to pack a proper kit before the Inquisitor was rushing him out the door and urging him onto a horse, barely enough time to wonder whether Leliana had been informed of their trip before they were riding out of the gates and away from the fortress. Since then, the air had been thick with tension. The mage was unusually taciturn and introspective, and Nathaniel was increasingly worried. The warrior shot look after look over his shoulder and Dorian was ready to snap. Luckily, they would be in Redcliffe tomorrow morning and, all things being equal, would be on their way back to Skyhold that afternoon. Then they could put this entire awkward thing behind them.  


“Who do you think will greet us tomorrow?” Nathaniel asked as he roasted rabbits over the fire.  


“I don’t know who he would send. Most likely someone I don’t know. Probably someone the upper classes of Tevinter pay no notice to. He wouldn’t want gossip about his communicating with the Inquisition to get around,” Dorian explained. “It’s entirely possible that the retainer is someone from outside of Tevinter.”  


“Would you tell me about Tevinter?” Nathaniel asked. The question caught Dorian off guard and he paused before answering.  


“Ah. Everyone outside the Imperium always seems quite fascinated by it,” Dorian stated, amusement coloring his voice. “Probably why they come up with so many ridiculous tales. Flying cows over Minrathous? Madness!” He paused, picking lint and other debris off his robes. “All right, that one’s true,” he confessed. “But the cows _didn’t_ have wings.” When he finally met Nathaniel’s gaze, he was thrown off at the fond yet amused smile on the man’s face. “I digress,” he continued, when it appeared that the Inquisitor wasn’t going to say anything. “Anything particular you wanted to know?”  


“Do you know anything about Corypheus?” Nathaniel asked. “He’s a figure out of Tevinter history and was apparently a Magister.”  


Dorian gave the other man an amused smile. “Yes, but that was a different time. The Imperium’s power was at its peak then. The civil war had ended, the Magisterium was united and its armies were scooping up bits of Thedas like candy.” Nathaniel lent forward, his elbows resting on top of his thighs as he listened to the history Dorian provided. It was a little flattering being the sole occupant of the man’s attention. The mage fought back a blush and continued on his discourse. “The Magisters who entered the Black City...it was a demonstration of how exceptional Tevinter had become.”  


“But who _were_ they?” Nathaniel asked. For a moment, Dorian had to remind himself that Nathaniel was seeking this knowledge for the Inquisition. As flattering as it was to have the man ask questions about his homeland, it was because a crazy, would-be god from Tevinter was their prime antagonist. He reorganized his thoughts as Nathaniel pulled the rabbits off the fire and began preparing their meal.  


“No one knows,” Dorian finally confessed. “There’s no record of a Magister named ‘Corypheus’.” Dorian shook his head. “You have to remember, all this happened fourteen hundred years ago – before the blight nearly wiped us out. There _are_ no records.” He paused, accepting the proffered plate of food with a quiet ‘thanks’. “Today, people half-believe it’s all just a story. That’s what _I_ believed.”   


The two men sat in silence as they ate their food. The rabbit was fresh and tender – a nice catch from Nathaniel’s hunt during the day. The warrior normally picked something up on their travels, making a quick and easy meal that could be eaten for dinner and then snacked on for breakfast and lunch the next day. Dorian did his best to find edible roots and fruits during their evenings and assisted however he could. It was quite clear that Nathaniel was used to living off the land; still, Dorian was a quick study, and the warrior was vocal in his thanks for the mage’s assistance.   


When dinner was finished and everything was cleared up, the two men gathered around the fire. Nathaniel sat catty-corner to the mage, making it easier for the men to see each other.  


“We have evidence that the story is very much real,” he said softly, picking up their conversation where it had left off earlier. Dorian sighed softly.  


“But not who Corypheus is, if he even remembers.” The Tevinter trailed off, lost in his thoughts. “There used to be families who claimed some of those Magisters as their own. That stopped when the Chantry appeared,” he informed Nathaniel, noting the man’s look and feeling horrible about dashing the man’s hopes. “Then it was shameful, and the families distanced themselves from the tale. Now, all we know is that some men and women entered the Black City looking for the Old Gods. What did they find?” the mage asked. “According to Corypheus, nothing, and only he could tell us more.” Silence descended between the two men and Dorian fought not to fidget.  


“Anyone who talks about the Imperium mentions slavery. It’s the center of the slave trade,” Nathaniel said softly. _Ah,_ Dorian thought. _He’s going for all of the uncomfortable topics tonight._  


“That is true,” he agreed hesitantly.   


“And?” Nathaniel pressed. “Did you have slaves?”  


“Not personally,” Dorian informed the other man. As flattered as he was to have Nathaniel’s attention earlier, the mage wished someone else would appear to grab the other man’s attention. “But my family does,” he confessed, “and treats them well. Honestly, I never thought much about it until I came south.” He knew how horrible that sentence sounded and he fought back a wince. “Back home,” he continued, “it’s...how it is? Slaves are everywhere. You don’t question it. I’m not even certain many slaves do.” It was a good question – _did_ slaves question the idea of slavery? Something to discuss with Minaeve when he next wrote to her.   


“Well, we don’t have slaves in the south,” Nathaniel told him. The man’s tone was slightly frosty, as if something Dorian said had displeased him. The tone surprised the mage. He had seen the warrior irritated before, could tell when the man was being polite for politeness’ sake, but nothing like this. Dorian’s temper flared.  


“In the south you have alienages, slums both human and elven. The desperate have no way out,” the mage countered. “Back home, a poor man can sell himself. As a slave, he could have a position of respect, comfort, and could even support his family. Some slaves are treated poorly, it’s true,” Dorian agreed, cutting off the other man’s argument before it could begin. “But do you really think inescapable poverty is better?” he challenged. Nathaniel opened his mouth to respond and then shut it again. His brow furrowed as if he was giving great thought to something, and Dorian felt his heart swell with fondness as he realized the man was giving serious consideration to what Dorian told him. Was slavery a perfect system? No, and Dorian meant what he said about slaves being treated poorly. Certain families were harsh on their slaves and there were, of course, the Magisters who used their slaves as blood sacrifices. But the south’s system could not be called ‘better’ by any means. Dorian had heard the stories about how soldiers had gone in and wiped out entire alienages for no other reason than for ‘fun’. There had to be a common ground somewhere between the two.  


“I...suppose not.” Nathaniel finally confessed.  


“I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave, true,” Dorian told the other man. “I never thought about it until I saw how different it was here. But I suspect you don’t know either, nor should you believe that every tale of Tevinter excess is the norm.”  


“Thank you, Dorian,” Nathaniel said softly. “I appreciate you answering my questions honestly.”  


“It’s nothing,” the mage assured him. “But if you don’t mind, I think I’ll turn in.” He stood, suddenly feeling exhausted, and headed for their tent. In a few minutes, he was out of his battle robes and into his sleeping attire. As he slid into his bed roll he tried to quiet the incessant voice in his head – the one who wouldn’t shut up about the meeting tomorrow. With a heavy sigh, he turned onto his side and waited for sleep to come.  


~  


Dawn came early and for once, Dorian was up and ready before the Inquisitor. It was only another hour to Redcliffe, and they were welcomed with hearty cheers when the people caught sight of the Inquisitor. It had been some time since they had stopped in at Redcliffe, and Dorian often forgot just how much work Nathaniel had put into re-taming the Hinterlands. It was clear that the people didn’t forget – the two men practically had to shove their way through the throng in order to reach the tavern.   


“Do you want me to go first?” Nathaniel asked as they stood in front of the door.  


“No. It’s possible the retainer will flee if they see you. Let me,” Dorian stated, turning the handle and pushing the door open. He stepped through quickly, Nathaniel close behind him. Both men looked around the place, but it was empty. “Uh-oh. Nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well,” Dorian said softly. His unease crept up a notch as he continued glancing around the room.  


“Dorian,” a familiar voice called. The mage turned around, catching sight of a familiar man at the bottom of the steps.  


“Father,” he greeted, anger already beginning to seep into his tone. He glanced over to the Inquisitor, but the warrior seemed just as confused as he was. “So the whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just...what? A smoke screen?”  


“Then you were told,” the man sighed as he approached his guests. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”  


“Of course not,” Dorian scoffed. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?” he mocked. “What is ‘this’ exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” The mage knew his temper was getting away from him, but he couldn’t stop the words from pouring forth. In the back of his mind, he wondered what the Inquisitor thought of all this. He could settle with the Inquisitor later – mend whatever bridges needed mending. Right now, he was focused on his father and making sure that the man stayed out of his life for good.  


“This is how it has always been,” his father sighed, as if disappointed. The statement only served to stoke Dorian’s rage even further.   


“You went through all this to get Dorian here,” Nathaniel told the Magister. “Talk to him,” he ordered.  


“Yes, Father. Talk to me. Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger,” Dorian taunted.  


“Dorian,” Magister Pavus cautioned. “There’s no need to-” Dorian cut him off.  


“I prefer the company of men,” he told the warrior. He doubted he was telling the man anything overly shocking. After all, Dorian flirted with just about everyone in Skyhold, so he wasn’t worried about this confession. “My father disapproves.”  


“This is not exactly news, Dorian,” the Inquisitor told him, clearly trying to fight back a smile.  


“And why should it be?” the mage asked. “Why should anyone care? I have no idea.”  


“This... _display..._ is uncalled for,” Magister Pavus stated.  


“No, it _is_ called for,” Dorian argued, turning away from the Inquisitor and facing his father. “You called for it by luring me here.”  


“This is not what I wanted,” the man informed him.  


“I’m never what you wanted, Father, or had you forgotten?” Dorian asked.  


“That’s...a big concern in Tevinter, then?” Nathaniel asked, drawing the younger mage’s attention back to him.  


“Only if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard,” Dorian explained. “Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means,” he continued, “every perceived flaw – every aberration – is deviant and shameful.” He turned back to his father. “It must be hidden.” The older Tevinter at least had the grace to look embarrassed.  


“So that’s what this is all about?” Nathaniel asked, slightly incredulous. “Who you _sleep_ with?” Dorian felt his stomach twist as he looked at the warrior.  


“That’s not _all_ it’s about,” he said lowly. The words seemed to snap the Magister awake.  


“Dorian, please, if you’ll only listen to me,” he began but his son interrupted him once more.  


“Why? So you can spout more convenient lies?” Dorian challenged as he walked closer to his father. “ _He_ taught me to hate blood magic,” he told the Inquisitor. “ _The resort of the weak mind._ Those are _his_ words.” He turned away from the older Tevinter as his temper continued to flare. “But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” he asked, turning back around once there was some space between them. “You tried to... _change_ me,” he accused, hating how his voice broke with emotion.  


“I only wanted what was best for you,” his father argued, and Dorian hated the man just a little bit more.  


“You wanted the best for _you_ ,” he countered, striding back over to the man. “For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!” He turned away from his father, walking over to a nearby table and resting his hands atop it as he tried to even out his breathing. He momentarily tensed as the Inquisitor came and stood beside him – for a moment he had actually forgotten about the other man’s presence in the tavern. Andraste preserve him, what must the man think of everything he had witnessed.  


“Don’t leave it like this, Dorian,” Nathaniel told him softly. “You’ll never forgive yourself.” Dorian let the words sink in, momentarily hating how right the Fereldan was. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself away from the table and walked back over to his father.  


“Tell me why you came,” he ordered.  


“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition...” Magister Pavus began.  


“You didn’t,” Dorian interrupted. “I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do. Once...I had a father who would have known that,” he finished before turning and heading for the door of the tavern. He was almost there when he heard his father speaking to him.  


“Once...I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed.” To hear his father admit to his mistake took the younger Tevinter by surprise. He whirled around, staring at the older man as he continued. “I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him...to forgive me.” Dorian stared at his father in disbelief. He glanced at the Inquisitor, wondering if the man had heard the same thing Dorian had. The answer must have been ‘yes,’ because Nathaniel gave the younger mage a head tilt, clearly indicating that Dorian should speak with his father. Cautiously, Dorian approached the older man as Nathaniel slipped out the door.   


“Did you really come to apologize?” Dorian asked after the two men had adjourned to his father’s room. The younger mage glanced out the window, amused to see that he was correct in his presumption. Nathaniel had left the tavern to give the two mages privacy, but he had camped right outside, ready to spring into action if Dorian needed him.  


“To apologize and to see how you were,” Halward agreed. “I meant what I said downstairs, Dorian. At the time I thought I was doing what was best for you.” The man in question sighed. His anger had burned itself out and ~~it~~ seemed to have left him with nothing but a resigned acceptance.  


“You could have talked to me about it,” he pointed out. “Did it ever occur to you to seek my opinion in the matter?”  


“At the time – no. Afterward, after we argued and you left...well, it was too late by then. I thought perhaps you might reach out once you had cooled down, that we could maybe work things out then, but...we never heard from you.”  


“You could have reached out just as easily,” Dorian told him as he turned away from the window and crossed his arms across his chest. He stared at his father, studying the older man’s face. He appeared to have aged since Dorian had last seen him. He wondered how much was due to natural aging and how much of it was caused by stress due to his prodigal son’s flagrant disregard for Tevinter’s rules of decorum. Part of him felt pride while another part internally winced at causing his father such distress – even if the man did disown him.  


“We’re alike, Dorian,” the older man told him. “We both have too much pride. Both of us stayed quiet as a punishment to the other because we both believed we were in the right.”  


“Clearly _something_ changed that,” he stated, walking away from the window and seating himself in the desk chair.  


“The Inquisition is on everyone’s lips these days,” Halward told his son. “And seeing as how Corypheus claims to be an ancient Tevinter Magister...”  


“And a Tevinter mage shows up in the ranks of the Inquisition...” Dorian continued with a sigh.  


“It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together,” the older man finished. “I was concerned for your safety. The south doesn’t understand Tevinter or her people. And with such a foe as Corypheus and the Venatori, prejudice against our people grows. I wanted to see for myself that you were alright.”  


“Heartwarming, really,” Dorian assured him. “But I don’t see how my safety is of concern when you disowned me.” Halward sighed but stood his ground. Dorian found it fascinating that the man never moved when speaking. He wondered if this is something that a Magister must learn before he was allowed on the floor of the Magisterium. Another question for Minaeve.  


“I know what I said, Dorian, and I wish I had never said it,” his father confessed. _Get out. You are no son of mine._ Dorian heard the words echo in his head. Then Cole’s soft voice – _He wishes he hadn’t meant it._  


“It can’t be undone,” Dorian told him as he stood. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t move forward. The Inquisitor and I have to head back to Skyhold. You may write to me there, if you wish,” he continued. Part of him hoped his father would. The other part expected nothing. “If you want to keep talking, you are welcome to accompany us on the journey back.”  


“I will pack my bag and meet you downstairs,” Halward answered. Dorian blinked in shock. He had expected a polite refusal before receiving a firm handshake or an awkward hug. His father joining them for the trip back to Skyhold had not even entered into the realm of possibility. Still, Dorian nodded before heading down the stairs and out the front door. Maker, but how was he going to explain this to the Inquisitor?

End Chapter Seven


End file.
